


Death Crutch

by Doctoring



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, One Shot, Rambling, not quite angst, writersmonth2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 21:34:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20365450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctoring/pseuds/Doctoring
Summary: Bruce became Batman to seek justice, especially after witnessing his parents’ murder. However, after so many years, Alfred wonders if he can still be Batman without using their death as a reason for his work.Written for Writer’s Month. Word Prompt: death





	Death Crutch

Alfred took the untouched tray of tea back upstairs. As he walked, he could see the cold tea sloshing back and forth in the mug, revealing the ring it had left behind. Bruce had asked for tea hours ago, but apparently was too preoccupied to consume it.

Alfred sets the tray down on the counter while shaking his head, sighing heavily at Bruce’s unhealthy habits.

When Alfred’s own parents died, he spent years mourning for them, and still finds moments where the grief creeps up on him, clouding his day with sorrow. However, he spent even longer mourning the loss of the Waynes. It was partially because the death of both Waynes was sudden and unexpected, unlike his own parents who died of old age and sickness. But it was also due to the fact that he felt like they were family. He spent so much of his life dedicated to them, and they treated him with such kindness, it was only natural that he should mourn for so long.

_Wait, that’s not right… it wasn’t so much mourning after a while… it was… remembering…_

Because of his dedication to the Waynes, meaning his dedication to Young Master Wayne in the end, he was constantly reminded of their death. So he didn’t really have much of a choice in the matter.

With his occupation, one can’t help but share in experiences, such as nearly two decades worth of mourning, remembering, and outright sulking at times.

Alfred knew that Bruce witnessed the murder, and he was their son after all, so he had a deeper connection that Alfred ever could. But at the same time, he couldn’t help but feel a bit disgruntled at Bruce’s constant brooding over his deceased parents. He couldn’t never outright say that, that would just be too awful, but he feels like Bruce is holding himself back from living his own life because of his parents’ death.

Bruce’s parents died when he was a child. Now, he’s in his mid-twenties. He hardly knew them then, and barely remembers them now. His best description of them is just a description pulled from newspaper clippings about their death, and a frayed photo he keeps in his desk drawer. These memories are not his own. They are shaped by the information left over regarding the Waynes, and by the memories of those around him, such as Alfred.

He has more memories with Alfred than he does with his parents, but still acts as though he’s all alone in the world, as if his parents were all he had, and when they died, his world did to. He ceased to exist after that.

Which does hurt Alfred at times, considering how he used to feel like part of the family with the late Waynes, but now, Bruce has a bad habit of pretending like Alfred doesn’t count. What’s worse. He does the same to everyone else in his life, including Damian. It’s not intentional, and not constant, but when he does slip up like he did tonight, it hurts everyone.

Though he does not remember them well, his only strong memory centered around the gunmen. This may be due to the traumatic experience, but it can also be blamed on his constant and purposeful recollection of them. He still uses them as fuel for all his hero-work. He wants to fight injustice to prevent anyone else from suffering like he has.

But Alfred wonders if Bruce realizes that he can admit his suffering has subsided, even just a little, while still fighting injustice.

_You can still fight the bad guys and let justice prevail, even if you’re not broken up and sad about something. You can just be a vigilante that does good. No one ever said that Batman had to be a vigilante that does good while brooding the whole time. No one, except maybe you, but you can change that! Can’t you? Afterall, there are people who support charities even though the purpose of the charity has not personally affected them. You know all about that, at least the Bruce side of you does. So why can’t the Batman side be that way as well, fight injustice for the sake of fighting injustice!? Not as a means to constantly remind yourself of such a great loss rather than trying to heal from it?_

But it seems like he _wants _to mourn, wants to dwell at times and allow their death to continue to eat away at him.

He has admitted that the memories of them are quite hazy, and he feels no real connection to them anymore. Though he had only admitted this once, and alcohol was a major player in that scene, enough so that he later completely denied any such words leaving him mouth, since they “couldn’t possibly be true.”

Alfred pours the cold tea down the drain and starts scrubbing at the mug.

_Is this healthy? Is this just a really poor attempt at coping? Is this possibly what he truly considers justice? Or, perhaps, is all of this an excuse?_

Alfred tries his hardest to push that last thought aside, but every time Bruce becomes this way, he can’t help but think of that.

_It’s all an excuse._

One again, he makes an attempt to push the thoughts aside. But as he makes another cup of tea, he can’t help but dwell, much like Bruce.

_Are you unable to let go now, after holding on to their death for so long?_

_With each passing year as Batman, it might have become harder to let go, to give up what caused you to take up the cowl. But it’s okay to admit that the cause is no longer there, as long as you realize that your purpose remains. _

Alfred sets the tea down and watches Bruce flinch slightly, turning his head just enough to appear to be reading the mail, when Alfred know he was staring at the family painting again.

_When will you let their death die, and learn to live for yourself?_

End.


End file.
